He motioned for his daughter-in-law to sit beside him, and a footman pulled back a chair for her.
'Oho!' said the old man, looking at her rounded figure. 'You've not wasted any time. Not a good thing!' His laugh was dry, cold and disagreeable; as always he laughed with his mouth, but not with his eyes. 'You must go out walking, plenty of walking, yes, as much as you can,' he said.
The little princess, not hearing him, or perhaps not wanting to, sat there in silence, looking embarrassed. But when the prince asked after her father she began to talk and smile. He also asked about common acquaintances, at which she became more and more animated, and began chattering away, conveying best wishes from various people and telling him the city gossip.
'Countess Apraksin has lost her husband and she cried her eyes out, poor dear,' she said, growing livelier by the moment. As she did so, the prince stared at her more and more severely, and then suddenly, as though he had studied all there was to study about her and formed a clear impression, he turned the other way and spoke to Mikhail Ivanovich.
'Well, Mikhail Ivanovich, our friend Bu . . . onaparte is in for a bad time. Prince Andrey' (he always spoke of his son in the third person) 'has just been telling me what forces are being massed against him! And you and I always thought he was a nobody.'
Mikhail Ivanovich had no knowledge of a time when 'you and I' had said any such thing about Napoleon, but he could see that he was needed so that they could get round to the prince's favourite subject, so he sat there staring at the younger prince, nonplussed and wondering what might now develop.
'He's my master tactician!' said the prince to his son, pointing to the architect, and once again the conversation turned to the war, Napoleon, and the latest generals and politicians. The old prince seemed convinced that all these public men were babes-in-arms without the slightest knowledge of warfare and politics, and Napoleon was a useless French nonentity who had been successful only because there were no more Potyomkins46 and Suvorovs to stop him. He was even convinced there weren't any political difficulties in Europe, there wasn't any war, only a kind of puppet show with people fooling around, pretending to be doing something serious. Prince Andrey accepted his father's sneering attitude towards the new people quite cheerfully, and egged his father on to say more. He obviously enjoyed listening.
'The past always seems better,' he said, 'but didn't Suvorov fall into a trap he couldn't get out of, set by Moreau?'
'Who told you that? Who said so?' cried the prince. 'Suvorov!' He flung his plate away and Tikhon caught it deftly. 'Suvorov! . . . Think again, Prince Andrey. Here we have two men - Frederick and Suvorov . . . Moreau? Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvorov's hands hadn't been tied behind his back - by that Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-rath. 47 That lot would stop the devil himself. Oh, you'll soon find out about these Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-raths! Suvorov couldn't cope with them, so how can Mikhail Kutuzov? No, my dear fellow,' he went on, 'you and your generals won't get past Napoleon. You'll have to get hold of some Frenchmen - set a thief to catch a thief! That German, Pahlen, has been sent off to New York in America to get that Frenchman, Moreau,' he said, having in mind that Moreau had been invited to enter the Russian service that year. 'It's marvellous, isn't it? All those Potyomkins, Suvorovs and Orlovs, they weren't Germans, were they? No, my boy, either you've all lost your wits, or I've outgrown mine. God help you, but we'll see what happens. So now they've got Napoleon down as a great general, have they? Pah! . . .'
'I'm not saying that all our preparations are perfect,' said Prince Andrey; 'but I can't see how you can judge Napoleon like that. You can laugh all you want, but Napoleon is a great general!'
'Mikhail Ivanovich!' the old prince shouted to the architect, who was enjoying his meat and rather hoped they had forgotten about him. 'I told you Bonaparte was a master tactician? Now he says so too.'
'Ah well, your Excellency,' replied the architect.
The prince gave another chilling laugh.
'Napoleon was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He's got some splendid soldiers - and besides that he picked the Germans to attack first. You'd have to be pretty slow not to beat the Germans. Since time began everybody has beaten the Germans. And they've never beaten anybody - except each other. He made his name fighting them.'
And off went the prince analysing all the blunders he thought Bonaparte had perpetrated in his wars and even in politics. His son made no objection, but it was clear that whatever arguments he might have to face, he was as unlikely to change his mind as the old prince himself. Prince Andrey listened, managing not to object. He couldn't help wondering how this old man, who had spent so many years alone in the countryside, never going anywhere, could keep abreast of all the military and political developments in Europe over recent years and discuss them in such detail and with such accuracy.
'You think I'm an old man and I don't know how things stand, don't you?' he said, drawing things to a close. 'I'm telling you I do! Sometimes I can't sleep for nights on end. Anyway, where is this great general of yours? Where has he proved himself?'
'That would be a long story,' answered his son.
'Go on with you, you and your Napoleon. Mademoiselle Bourienne, here's someone else who admires your country bumpkin of an emperor!' he cried in excellent French.
'You know I am not a Bonapartist, Prince.'
' "God knows when we'll see him . . ." ' the prince hummed tunelessly, and his laugh was even more grating as he rose from the table.
The little princess had sat through the whole argument and the rest of the dinner without saying a word, looking in some alarm from Princess Marya to her father-in-law. When they left the table she took her sister-in-law's arm and led her off into another room.
'What a clever man your father is,' she said. 'Perhaps that's why I'm so scared of him.'
'Oh, he is so kind!' said Princess Marya.
CHAPTER 25
It was the next evening, and Prince Andrey was preparing to leave. The old prince, not one to disrupt his regular routine, had retired to his room after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrey had put on his civilian travelling coat and spent some time cloistered with his valet, packing. After making a personal inspection of the carriage and the stowing of his trunks he gave orders for the horses to be harnessed. In the room there was nothing left but a few things that Prince Andrey always carried with him: a travelling case, a silver canteen, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, the last a present from his father brought back from Suvorov's siege of Ochakov.48 All of these travelling essentials were in excellent order; everything was spick and span, covered with cloth and meticulously taped up.
At a time of departure and change thinking people usually find themselves in a serious frame of mind. At such a time you tend to review the past and make plans for the future. Prince Andrey's face was gentle and very thoughtful. He paced briskly up and down the room from one corner to another with his arms behind his back, staring ahead and pensively shaking his head. Whether he was worried about going off to war or sad at leaving his wife - or perhaps a little of both - he evidently didn't want to be caught like that; at the sudden sound of approaching footsteps he quickly unclasped his hands and stood by a table, pretending to be fastening the lid of the case, and he resumed his normally calm and inscrutable expression. He had heard the heavy tread of Princess Marya.
'They told me you were having the horses harnessed,' she said, all out of breath (she must have been running), 'and I did want to have one more little talk with you on our own. Heaven knows how long we shall be apart this time. I hope you're not angry that I've come? Andryusha, you really have changed, you know,' she added, as if that justified her question.
She smiled as she called him 'Andryusha'. She could hardly imagine that this forbiddingly handsome man was the same Andryusha as that wiry, mischievous little boy who had been the companion of her childhood.
'Where's Lise?' he asked, and a smile was his only answer.
'Sh
e was so tired she fell asleep on the sofa in my room. Oh, Andrey, what a treasure of a wife you have,' she said, sitting down on the sofa facing her brother. 'She's just a perfect child, such a sweet, happy child. I've really taken to her.' Prince Andrey said nothing, but the princess watched as a look of irony and scorn came over his face.
'But you have to put up with little weaknesses. We all have them, Andrey. Don't forget she's been brought up and educated in high society. And besides, her present position is not all that rosy. We must try to put ourselves in other people's places. When you understand everything you can forgive everything. Just think what it must be like for her, poor girl, after the life she's been used to, to part from her husband and then be left alone in the country, and in her condition too. It's very hard on her.'
Prince Andrey looked at his sister and smiled the kind of smile we reserve for people we think we can see through.
'You live in the country and you don't find it too awful,' he said.
'It's not the same thing. Don't bring me into it. I don't wish for any other kind of life, and I couldn't if I wanted to, because I don't know any other kind of life. But just think, Andrey, what it means for a young woman who is used to living in society to bury herself away in the country for the best years of her life and all on her own - because Papa is always busy, and I . . . well, you know me . . . I'm poor company for a society woman. There's only Mademoiselle Bourienne . . .'
'I don't like her, that Bourienne woman,' said Prince Andrey.
'Oh, you mustn't say that! She's so kind, and so sweet, and - well, you have to be sorry for her too. She has nobody, nobody at all. If you want to know the truth, she's no use to me, in fact I find her oppressive. You know I've always been unsociable, and now I'm worse than ever. I like to be on my own . . . Father's very fond of her. She and Mikhail Ivanovich are the only two people he gets on with and keeps his temper with, because they are both beholden to him. As Laurence Sterne says: "We love people not so much for the good they have done to us as for the good we have done to them." Father picked her up off the streets as an orphan, and she's very good-hearted. And father likes the way she reads. She reads to him in the evenings. She does it very well.'
'But be honest, Marie, I can only think sometimes it must be hard for you living with Father. You know the way he is,' Prince Andrey suggested suddenly. Princess Marya was taken aback, then shocked by this question.
'Me? . . . me? . . . Hard for me!' she said.
'He's always been on the stern side, but now I think he's getting quite difficult,' said Prince Andrey, disparaging their father so easily that he must surely have meant to tease his sister - or test her.
'You're a good man, Andrey, but there is a kind of intellectual pride about you,' said the princess, apparently following her own train of thought rather than the thread of the conversation, 'and this is a great sin. How can we pass judgement on our own father? And even if we could, what feeling but the deepest admiration could a man like Father evoke? I am so pleased and happy to be with him. I just wish all of you were as happy as I am.'
Her brother shook his head in some doubt.
'The only thing that bothers me - honestly, Andrey - is our father's cast of mind in a religious sense. I can't understand how a man of such vast intellect can fail to see what is as clear as daylight, and can get things so wrong. That's the one thing that disturbs me. And even here I think I've seen a glimmer of improvement recently. Lately he has not been so bitter with his mockery, and he has been willing to receive a monk and he talked to him for a very long time.'
'Well, my dear, I'm afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder,' said Prince Andrey in amused but affectionate tones.
'Oh, my dear friend, all I can do is pray to God and hope that he will hear me. Andrey,' she said timidly, after a moment's pause, 'I have a great favour to ask you.'
'What is it, my dear?'
'Promise me you won't refuse. It will cost you almost nothing and it won't involve anything disreputable. Only it will be such a comfort to me. Promise, Andryusha,' she said, thrusting one hand into her handbag and getting hold of something without showing it, as though what she was holding concerned the favour she was asking, but until she had a promise that it would be granted she could not take that something out. She looked sheepishly at her brother, imploring him with her eyes.
'Even if it cost me a great deal . . .' answered Prince Andrey, who seemed almost to have guessed what it was all about.
'I don't mind what you think about it. I know you're like father. Think what you want, but do it for my sake, please. Father's own father, our grandfather, wore this whenever he went to war . . .' She still didn't take what she was holding out of her bag. 'You promise?'
'Of course I do. What is it?'
'Andrey, I am going to bless you with a holy icon, and you must promise never to take it off . . . Do you promise?'
'As long as it doesn't weigh a hundredweight and won't break my neck . . . To please you . . .' said Prince Andrey. At this little joke he noticed instantly that a pained expression came over his sister's face, and he regretted it. 'I'm really pleased, my dear, really pleased,' he added.
'Even against your will He will save you and spare you and bring you to himself, because in Him alone are truth and peace,' she said in a voice shaking with emotion, solemnly holding before him with both hands a little antique oval icon depicting the Saviour with a black face, in a silver setting, on a very finely wrought silver chain. She crossed herself, kissed the icon and handed it to Andrey.
'Please, Andrey, do it for me.'
Her great wide eyes shone timidly with loving kindness. They lit up the whole of her thin, sickly face and turned it into a thing of beauty. Her brother reached for the icon, but she stopped him. Andrey understood, crossed himself and kissed the icon. He was moved, and his face showed a mixture of amusement and tenderness.
'Thank you, my dear.' She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again on the sofa.
Neither spoke . . .
'So, as I was saying, Andrey, please be kind and generous as you always used to be. Don't judge Lise too harshly,' she began again. 'She is so sweet and kind, and her present situation is very difficult.'
'Masha, I don't think I've said anything about blaming my wife for anything or being dissatisfied with her. Why do you go on like this?'
Princess Marya went all red and blotchy, and stopped speaking as though she felt guilty.
'I have said nothing to you, but other people have. That's what makes me sad.'
The red blotches stood out stronger than ever on her forehead, cheeks and neck. She would have liked to say something, but couldn't get it out. Her brother had guessed the truth: his wife had shed tears after dinner, saying she knew she was in for a difficult birth and was terrified of it, and she had cursed her misfortune, her father-in-law and her husband. Only then had she fallen asleep. Prince Andrey was sorry for his sister.
'I can tell you one thing, Masha, I can't reproach my wife for anything, I never have done and never shall do, nor do I reproach myself in relation to her, and that will always be so in any circumstances whatsoever. But if you really want to know . . . well, whether I'm happy, the answer is no. Is she happy? No. Why not? I don't know . . .'
As he said this, he stood up, went over to his sister and bent to kiss her on the forehead. His handsome eyes were shining with an unusual brightness and kindness, but he was looking past his sister's head through the open door into the darkness beyond.
'Let's go to her. I have to say goodbye. Or you go on your own and wake her up, and I'll come in a moment. Petrushka!' he called to his valet. 'Come and take these things out. This goes in the seat and that on the right-hand side.'
Princess Marya got up and moved towards the door. She stopped. 'Andrey, if you had faith, you would have turned to God and asked Him to give you the love that you do not feel, and your prayer would have been answered.'
'Yes, you may be right,' said Prince Andrey. 'Go
on, Masha, I'll follow you in a minute.'
On the way to his sister's room, in the gallery connecting the two parts of the house, Prince Andrey came across Mademoiselle Bourienne, who smiled sweetly at him. It was the third time that day that she had happened on him in out-of-the-way passages, always with a nice beaming smile on her face.
'Oh, I thought you were in your room,' she said, blushing for some reason and looking down. Prince Andrey glanced at her sharply, and a look of bitter displeasure came over his face. He glared at her in silence, not at her eyes but at her forehead and hair, with such contempt that she turned bright red and walked off without another word. When he got to his sister's room, the little princess was awake and her cheery little voice could be heard through the open door, chattering away like mad. Her French poured out as if she had been too long restrained and now wanted to make up for lost time.
'No, but just think of old Countess Zubov, with all those false curls and her mouth full of false teeth49 as though she was trying to turn back the years. Hee-hee-hee, Marie!'
This was the fifth or sixth time that Prince Andrey had heard his wife speak these very words about Countess Zubov, and always with the same laugh. He walked quietly into the room. The little princess was sitting in a chair with some sewing in her hands, all round and rosy, coming out with a stream of Petersburg memories and fashionable phrases. Prince Andrey walked over, stroked her on the head and asked if she had got over her tiredness from the journey. She nodded and went on with her tale.
The carriage with six horses stood at the steps. It was an autumn night, so dark the coachman couldn't see the main shaft of his carriage. Servants with lanterns were running up and down the steps. The vast house stood there with its huge windows blazing. House serfs thronged the entrance, eager to wish their young prince Godspeed. All the members of the household were gathered in the great hall: Mikhail Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Marya and the little princess. Prince Andrey had been summoned to his father's study, so they could be alone to say goodbye, and now everyone was waiting for him to come out again. When Prince Andrey went into the study, the old prince was wearing his old-age spectacles and his white dressing-gown, in which he never saw anyone but his son. He was sitting at the table writing. He looked round.